Ink Stains
by RedPineapple27
Summary: If Lavi is Superman, then Allen's Lois Lane.


**Summary: **If Lavi's Superman, then Allen's Lois Lane.

**Warnings: **Just a little kissing, nothing major.

**Rating: **T (could probably be K+, but better to be safe).

**Disclaimer: **It's called _fan_fiction. As in fiction that is written by a _fan._ I make no money out of this.

There never seems to be enough Laven on this site, *sighs*. I took some canon liberties here, mostly related to the sorts of concepts that were around back in the nineteenth century. If you can't deal with a little historical anachronism, don't read.

**Ink Stains**

Most of the time when people glance at Lavi's hands they briefly note the stains as occupational hazards. Often they're right.

What they don't see is the odd sweep or curl rising from the foggy stains of his job.

Allen knows, though.

Knows that the swiftest gauge of Lavi's mental state is his hands, his long ink misted fingers where the skin isn't covered by gloves.

When he's gloomy or frustrated, the future Bookman blacks his cuticles, drawing tapered gothic semi-circles over his nail beds.

If he's idle too long, cubes flourish amongst the smudges. The outer vertices are always heavily sketched for spatial emphasis.

If he's overwhelmed, his scrawling cursive handwriting criss crosses over the Bookman shorthand in attempts to retain as much information as possible by making lists on his skin.

Swirls arc in the habitual mess when he's happy. That one took Allen the longest to figure; they were rare and seemed to have evolved only recently.

Tonight, Lavi was upset. The redhead never said a word but Allen's tongue swept the evidence away as deftly as a palm reader's fingers.

He knew better than to ask – that would violate their rules. Lavi had his last semblance of Bookman code and Allen had his own personalised schizophrenia. Their relationship was something of an escape from certain realities and neither of them had any desire to invite those thoughts into their bed.

He didn't need to look to know that Lavi's eyes traced the motion of his tongue as he suckled the digits, tasting the heaviness of the ink. While he'd never warmed to the flavour, it didn't leave the hateful aftertaste it used to. He supposed he had simply taken in so much that he'd adjusted. These days the ink simply registered like water; no particular flavour or lack thereof, just a presence in his mouth.

Ever polite, the elder kept his fingers still as Allen's tongue worked at erasing the ink. While most people enjoyed massages to relax, Lavi loved having his fingers played with. The muscles in his hands were titanically strong after spending too many hours wrapped around quills, and as a result he loved nothing more than for Allen to relieve his tension. The fact that sucking was involved was simply a kink he'd developed as the boyfriend of a certain snownette.

Shifting next to him, Lavi's free hand slipped around to Allen's head, massaging the sensitive point between the scalp and neck. At first the motion of his fingers felt arbitrary, but Allen soon detects patterns in the massage. He feels a little warm inside when he realises that the redhead is drawing swirls in his hair. Allen hummed around his fingers, eyes closing with the pleasure of Lavi's fingers scuttling over his scalp.

"You'll end up with ink poisoning if you keep sucking like that."

Some of the lethargy had left Lavi's voice, Allen noticed. He was starting to sound livelier than he had approximately four minutes previously when he'd entered the younger's room, crossed to the bed after mumbling an unnecessarily hostile 'Hey' and flopping down against the headboard of the bed, glaring at the flagstone floor the whole way.

"If you're still alive and kicking, then I reckon I'm probably going to be alright." Allen smiled, genuinely.

"Nah, I've got special Bookman immunity. They inject us with the ink when we're inducted into the clan until we need our daily smearing to stay alive. Ink could never hurt me. Ink _loves_ me."

Lavi slid his hand from Allen's mouth with a slight wet sound. He used the newly free hand to gently goad Allen into his lap. He smiled easily down at his boyfriend and Allen was relieved to see that whatever had happened that to darken the redhead's day was clearly of the past.

"Like a superpower?"

"Yeah, exactly." Lavi bent to kiss Allen. The touch was soft and simple, "I am Inkman, sent by the Bookmen to save the planet from rogue pens."

Tugging Lavi back down into another kiss, Allen opened his mouth to allow Lavi in. The position was awkward, straining both their backs, but they kissed with the lazy slowness of two with all the time in the world. Lavi's hand returned to his boyfriend's hair, though this time he brushes the white locks with his fingers, the slight wetness of Allen's residual saliva means that his fingers don't slide through the hair well, but the snowy haired male enjoys the small pressures.

They parted after a time and Lavi continued his tale. "These pens, enchanted by the nefarious Dr. McCreepygrin in order to poison the planet, can be only detoxified by the purifying electrical impulses in my skin."

Allen snuggled into his boyfriend's lap, rolling his head around to find the most comfortable angle and stretching his legs luxuriously. He loved these moments, when they could simply be together with no pressure. Furthermore, his boyfriend's lap was fast becoming one of his favourite spots to rest: the suppleness of his thigh muscles with the undercurrent firmness of his bones was _perfect._

"Hey, quit that," grinned the redhead, "you'll get in the way of my purifying current."

"So what's your weakness then? All superheroes have their hamartia."

"Hmm . . . How about rather attractive males who harbour insane hero complexes and over-developed senses of responsibility? Anyone would have a weakness there."

Allen swatted the redhead, but the motion was without any real malice.

"So does this mean you're going to start wearing your knickers on the outside?"


End file.
